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Friday, October 21, 2016

Ah, sweet stillness... it's an old word dating from before 900CE, and it comes to us through the Middle English stilnesse and the Old English stilnes,
both describing a state in which one is quiet, peaceful, balanced and
motionless. There is also the Old Saxon and Old High German stilli, the Dutch stollen meaning "to curdle", and Sanskrit sthānús meaning "immobile".

It's difficult not to think about stillness at a time
of year when wild
cousins are heading south or finding nice warm caves
and planning to sleep until springtime rolls around again. Birds such as geese,
loons and the great herons fly south for the winter. Bears, frogs, hedgerows and old
trees hibernate and dream their way through the long white season.

Implicit
in this week's word are notions of tranquility, rest and connection, an inclusive flowing that takes in our befuddled human selves
and the cosmos all around us. The
late John Daido Loori wrote that every creature
on the face of the earth seemed to know how to be quiet and still, but that humans seemed to have lost the ability
to "be quiet, to simply be present in the stillness that is the basis of
our existence." The mundane world is one (by and large) of noise,
haste and stress, and we need stillness if we are to complete our journey, creatively, fruitfully, and without going completely bonkers.

If this place is about anything at all, it is about stillness. Woodland wanderings, sheaves of mediocre photos, written meanderings in the wee hours of the morning, all are merely shaky efforts to be still and be present, located in every breath I take and rooted in the world where I was planted this time around. Geri Larkin calls the process "stumbling toward
enlightenment" and that
is what it is—a slow lurch toward a place of joyous being that evades description
and feels just like home. She also wrote that it is our job in life to dance, to dance with
our whole breath, our whole body, the whole world, the whole universe. Though this part of the journey be rough going, there is joy around here, and there is a fair bit of dancing (sometimes just lurching about) too.

Once in a while, something luminous shows itself in a few bars of music, through a cluster of trees or as a dancing presence between one raindrop and the
next. Call it kensho or
momentary enlightenment—there's elemental magic at work at such times. It's being in
tune with clouds and water and
hillsides strewn with rainbow-colored leaves. It's Vivaldi's The Four Seasons or Bach's Cello SuiteNo.1 on the CD player as the day begins and amber cups of Darjeeling at sundown. It's the blue
pottery bowl of Macintosh apples on the sideboard, rosy and fragrant and a perfect expression of autumn in all her glory. I can almost hear the little dears singing, and I am certain they dance when I am not looking.

6 comments:

Wonderful wordsand yes it is difficult to just beand enjoy stillness.I find itin this cottage by the woodsbut seems to quietfor my family :)I could live no where elseand so thankful I could return8 years ago..

Love the words of Loori - "simply being present in the stillness that is the basis of existence." Ahhhhh sweet refuge... And this - "being in tune" - with the cosmos... with life... with existence... experiencing that delightful dance :) Ah-ho! Am glad you are finding these joyful momentary enlightenments :) Am looking forward to some time in the stillness today myself... <3

Oh what delicious words to wrap up in as winter is pushing her energy with snow on the mountains surrounding the Missoula Valley. It is always the times I have spent in deeply rural and isolated dwellings where the stillness and silence allowed for much listening to the voices of the earth. Your blog words always, always bring peace to my days...thank you for the writing you do, and the wonderful photos.Kristin

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through this life we pass,here for only seventeensyllables, three lines

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Wise Words

These pages, too, are nothing other than talking leaves—their insights stirred by the winds, their vitality reliant on periodic sunlight and on cool dark water seeping up from within the ground. Step into their shade. Listen close. Something other than the human mind is at play here.

David Abram, Becoming Animal

When we deliberately leave the safety of the shore of our lives, we surrender to a mystery beyond our intent.